


The Wild Swans

by in_fatuated



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, fairy tale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 13:09:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6755398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/in_fatuated/pseuds/in_fatuated
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Queen has to rescue her loved ones - who have been turned into swans. She cannot speak, she cannot say a word. She can only knit.</p>
<p>Alistair struggles to understand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wild Swans

i.

Elisa is not a witch or a mage, neither is she filled with pure goodness of heart.

Which is why, she fails to understand the reason or salvation that spares her from the evil Sorceress' spell.

She is brimming with rage, knuckles white as sheet and blood pounding in her ears.

She is positively furious as she yells curses at the evil Sorceress who, with a flick of a finger, has turned her beloved brother - Fergus, and her faithful companions - Zevran, Sten, Leliana, Morrigan, Shale, Oghren, Wynne, Bodahn, Sandal and her mabari into 11 beautiful white swans.

The evil Sorceress tries and tries again to enchant Elisa with her evil magic, but to the young girl's surprise, she has proven to be very resistant against the witch's charms.

With a shriek, the ugly witch (who is actually rather beautiful, but Elisa chooses to ignore this), levitates herself off the ground and swoops out the open window of Vigil's Keep, velvet robes billowing after her slender curves.

Elisa runs after her, shaking her fists and rueing the absence of her daggers when she needs them most. She had, after all, never expected to be attacked in her own fortress.

After yelling herself hoarse and red-faced, she turns with a defeated sigh to her former human friends...and brother.

Morrigan looks right back at her, full of affront and disgust, so like her human self that Elisa feels like breaking down in tears.

Zevran and Leliana preens unabashedly, lifting their beautiful wings. Elisa sees the admiration in their swan faces, and feels like crying for different reasons altogether.

Oghren the Swan lets out a loud burp and pecks at Bodahn's tail. Sandal sits quietly, side by side with Sten, whose stony face perfectly replicates his Qunari one.

Fergus is squawking loudly, fluttering about in a panic, and her Mabari joins him in noisy cacophony, although Elisa suspects her dog is more excited about his new form than horrified.

Wynne ruffles her feathers and looks on quietly, no doubt trusting in Elisa's abilities to reverse the spell. 

Last of all, Elisa does not dare to look at Shale. She knows her hatred of birds, and is too terrified to know what Shale thinks of all these.

She muffles another scream into her hands, and then rubs her eyes to see if there is a possibility that she is hallucinating.

When the swans fail to disappear, Elisa stalks to the door, flings it open, and cries, "Nate! Velanna!"

 

ii.

"I've heard of this spell," Velanna says, "You will need to knit them shirts of nettle - found only in graveyards, and until then - you need to take a vow of silence. No one can know of their plight, or the spell will become irreversible. If you speak even a word, they will die."

Nate glances at the mage, askance, "Is this some fairy tale of yours, Vel?"

She ignores him with a dismissive wave and looks at Elisa carefully, "It will not be easy, but it will work."

"Nettles..." Elisa stammers, eyes wide with horror, "Nettles  _sting_!"

"There is no other way, I'm afraid."

Elisa looks at Wynne the Swan, the only other mage who might know something about this. Wynne gazes back at her calmly, but her wise eyes betray a hint of resignation.

"What will happen to them?" Elisa asks sadly.

"At midnight, they will return to human form, and stay that way until dawn breaks again."

"If that is true, please isolate Shale the Swan from the rest. I fear her wrath will bring down the Keep when she is back to her original self."

Velanna nods and conjures knitting needles and presses them into her hands. "Go, quickly, to Denerim Palace. They grow in abundance there. Knit them 11 shirts of nettles and bring them back when you are done. We will not speak a word of this to anyone, and the moment you step out of Vigil Keep...you must not utter a single sound."

"I don't even remember how to knit!" Elisa wails.

 

iii.

Alistair kneels before her, taking her blistered hands into his large, warm ones.

"My love," he pleads, "Please, my love. Talk to me. Why are you doing this?"

Elisa looks at her husband, the King, and parts her lips - chapped and bleeding as she tends to bite into them to deal with the pain of knitting, then remembers her vow of silence, and her eyes fill with tears.

She takes her hands out of his gentle grip and shakes her head, reaching for one of the deformed nettle shirts that lay beside her chair.

"Stop, Elisa, you're hurting yourself!" he cries, casting forlorn glances at the pile of stinging nettles on the ground. Elisa continues to knit, her third shirt, although her skill leaves much to be desired.

Alistair's shoulders heave as he tries to contain his sobs. The poor King has no idea of what had happened, and is not allowed to find out.

Three weeks ago, his beloved had arrived home to his delight, and Alistair had made many plans to celebrate her return and their reunion.

He was left befuddled when she refused to speak to him, and chose to spend her mornings in the graveyard collecting nettles, and the rest of her days holed up in a room knitting said nettles.

Alistair tried to question her, again and again, and was only answered with silent tears and anguish. He ordered jars and jars of elfroot salve, and spent the nights applying them to her battered fingers lovingly.

Then, as days passed, and Elisa showed no signs of speaking, he became angry. He threw the salves against the wall with a bellow of rage, grabbed at the stinging nettles - blistering his own hands in the process, and tossed them across the room. Elisa still sat silently, tears streaming down her face, and refused to meet him in the eye. Alistair stormed out in a rage.

Not an hour later, he came back. Elisa was laid out in bed, unable to sleep, grieved at her husband's sorrow. Alistair crawled into the covers beside her, and embraced her gently, murmuring apologies and declarations of love.

"Whatever happened, love, I'm just glad you came back to me," he confessed.

Her tears dripped lightly and mixed with the salve as she rubbed the ointment onto his hands.

 Now, the King asks a single, solemn question every morning. When Elisa still fails to reply, he lowers his head in despair for a few moments, and then gets up and continues on with his day with a heavy heart and a sad smile.

 

iii.

Nathaniel Howe appears at the palace, answering the King's urgent summons.

"You must know what happened!" the Fereldan King booms at him.

He averts his eyes from the brown piercing ones, and looks to the floor.

"Your Majesty, I must not speak of it. The consequences would be dire."

He hears the King inhale deeply, and knows that Alistair is preparing to throw a fit.

When no curses came his way, Nathaniel lifts his head in puzzlement. He sees the King sitting heavily in his throne,  looking utterly deflated.

Then, he sees his Warden-Commander, Elisa Cousland, glaring at Alistair without saying a word.

Alistair looks abashed, and raises his hand to Nathaniel, "One thing, just tell me this one thing. Is my Elisa in any danger?" His voice quavers at the end.

Nathaniel furrows his brow and thinks - trying to recall what Velanna had said. After a moment, he shakes his head and says, "I do not think so, Your Majesty. Not directly, at least."

Alistair's broad shoulders slump and he nods dismissively, "That...that will be all."

"Thank you," he adds, like an afterthought.

Nathaniel bows again, trying not to feel sorry for the sad King. Elisa takes a few steps closer, and beckons him to follow her.

Once they are alone, Nathaniel asks, "How are you, Commander?"

She turns to him with large, sad eyes and Nathaniel sighs. Her eyes widen expectantly, and Nathaniel quickly clears his throat, "Right, of course. They are doing fine. They know what you are doing, and told me to convey their deepest gratitude. In the meantime, they are working on locating that evil witch whenever they are able."

Elisa mimes a pigeon shitting on a statue, and Nathaniel laughs, "Shale has been kept away from the living population. No one has dared to go near her after midnight. There is a new legend, however, that a mountain troll has taken residence in Vigil Keep and intents to destroy it. Such is the volume of her displeasure."

 

iv.

Elisa looks at her hands with sorrow. The pain no longer bothers her - she has become numbed to it. Sometimes, she thinks her fingers have fallen off.

Sadly, she thinks that they will never regain their former beauty - scarred and swollen as they are now.

Her daggers collect dust in her armoire. She is no longer able to wield them comfortably.

But all that pain is nothing compared to the anguish she is causing to Alistair. Her darling, beautiful man has lost all his laughter and humour. His eyes no longer twinkle with mirth, his lips turn downwards all the time.

Elisa lays down the nettles and her needles with a yawn. 1 more shirt to knit. A short trip back to Vigil Keep, and all these will be in the past.

Then, she promised herself, she will devote all her time to making her husband happy again. His kind soul does not deserve such torture.

She had not even been able to join him in bed, knowing that it would be impossible to keep her vow of silence with Alistair.

The flutter of a raven's wing distracts her from her sad thoughts. She looks at the window and sees one of Leliana's pet birds silhouetted against the moonlight. Elisa retrieves the message happily.

_Be careful,_ she read, and notes that it is Zevran's handwriting,  _a plot brews in the palace._

Elisa frowns. She throws the message into the furnace and watches as it turns into ashes.

What plot? Who? No one would dare...

She looks at her dwindling pile of nettles and pulls on her coat. She knows she will not sleep that night, not with Zevran's ominous words ringing in her ear. She might as well spend the time looking for nettles.

1 last shirt to knit.

 

v.

"There she is!" a stern voice rings out in the quiet dawn. Elisa jumps with a start, the nettles falling from her loosened grip and scattering on the ground.

"Arrest her! The witch! The Sorceress! She has practiced evil and bewitched our king!"

Elisa glances around frantically. Alistair? Her Alistair? Has that horrible sorceress returned to torment her some more?

Soldiers approach her, and to her utter bewilderment, they surround her. The look on their faces full of anger.

Two of the burly guards march up to her, they grasp at her hands but the remaining nettles sting proves too much and they are forced to retreat slightly.

"Follow us. Elisa Cousland - you are under arrest for witchcraft," their leader announces.

_No!_ she screams in her mind. She shakes her head defiantly and stomps her feet. Her wild gestures loosen her simple ponytail and the tendrils fall over her eyes.

She huffs at the irritating strands, still trying to protest her innocence, but the soldiers would have none of it. One of them grabs her elbow, and roughly hauls her toward the castle dungeons.

"STOP!" a familiar voice calls, and Elisa crumples in relief.

Alistair emerges from the bushels, rage and fury apparent on his handsome features.

"Let her go!" he orders, standing tall and proud and kingly before the soldiers.

"Your Majesty," their voices chorus as one and they fall to their knees.

"How dare you?" he seethes at them, "She is your Queen!"

"We have orders from the Revered Mother. She is accused of witchcraft and is to be tried at the stake."

"I forbid it," Alistair's voice is stony and cold. Elisa shudders. "I absolutely forbid it."

"Your Majesty -" the leader of the guards tries to speak.

"Your Majesty," another frail voice pipes up. All heads turn to the newcomer. Revered Mother Casilene strolls up to the kneeling guards. "She is to be arrested under my orders. The Crown has no say over the Chantry," she speaks quickly to halt Alistair's protests.

"Take her!" she gestures at Elisa.

"No!" the King protests and unsheathes his sword in one fluid movement. Mother Casilene raises an eyebrow, "Will you do harm to the Most Holy? Do you denounce Andraste in the presence of Her disciples?"

Arl Eamon steps closer to the King and places a soothing hand on his gauntlet. "Let her go, Your Majesty, we will find another way to resolve this."

Elisa's last glimpse of her husband almost breaks her heart - the desolation on his face almost too much to bear.

 

vi.

1 more shirt. She'll knit this one and then find a way to send all of them to Vigil Keep. Velanna and Nate would know what to do with them. It is only luck that she brought her pouch out with her that morning. She might have everything she needs...

Elisa gathers the stray nettles stuck to her skirt and sobs with relief. It will be enough...barely so, but still enough for her last shirt.

She opens the pouch at her side and withdraws her needles. The light filtering in from the grilled windows of the dungeons will soon diminish as the sun sets.

She does not have much time.

She'll save them, and then she'll save herself.

 

vii.

"She is NOT a witch," Alistair insists. His hands grip the arms of his throne, desperately tamping down the desire to slice the Chantry representatives into pieces. "Even if she is one, I will not love her any less. She is still your Queen! I will have no other!"

Eamon sighs heavily at his side.

Mother Casilene nods in agreement, "If she is not a witch, have her appear before us and deny it!"

Alistair glowers at her in silence.

The Holy Mother smirks, knowing too well that Elisa will not speak, and then addresses the audience - made up of nobles and generals, "You all bear witness to our charge. If Elisa Cousland fails to state her innocence, she will burn at the stake!"

"Harm her, and I will hunt you to the ends of the earth," Alistair growls, drawing his sword again. His attention diverts to the opening of the large doors. His face falls as he sees his beloved dressed in rags and bundled in chains.

"Elisa..." he croaks. She glances once at him, then returns her gaze to her hands - knitting needles flying furiously as she hurries to finish her task. "Elisa, please, please say something!" he begs.

"Speak, Cousland! Speak for your innocence," Mother Casilene orders imperiously.

Elisa ignores her, sweat beading her forehead as she continues her work.

With an air of triumph, the Revered Mother turns back to the crowd. "You have your proof before you! Your former queen has been caught red-handed, gathering stinging nettles for her nefarious spells, and she does not even try to deny it! Look at her, even now, she works her sorcery in our very presence."

Bann Teagan bravely speaks, "But His Majesty -"

"His Majesty," the Revered Mother raises her voice even louder, "is bewitched! He is no longer an impartial observer and therefore his testimony is rendered invalid. Stand, my noble gentlemen and ladies of the court, stand up for your king! Condemn this witch!"

On his throne, Alistair appraises his subjects with an angry growl. He sees some of the noble shaking their heads at the Chantry's claims, but a number seem to be falling for her lies.

And they will not need an unanimous vote to condemn his beloved.

His hand flexes on the pommel of his sword as he moves to stand before Elisa. _Let them try...just let them try to lay a finger on her._ The guards around her visibly tremble at his proximity.

Suddenly, loud squawks and fluttering of wings interrupt his thoughts. From above, a flock of swans soar gracefully into the large hall. At the entrance, Alistair is able to catch a glimpse of Nathaniel Howe and a sparsely dressed mage leaning and panting heavily against the ornate doors.

"Andraste has sent us a sign," the Mother screams above the noise, "She has sent her confirmation of this witch's guilt! Burn her! Guards, burn her, I say!"

The swans descend into the crowd, some landing before Elisa, some nosediving into the tittering crowd. The guards alternate between catching the birds and preparing the stake. Alistair helps, shoving his guards into the ground and not mindful of where his kicks and punches land.

It is chaos.

A particularly ambitious soldier grabs the King by the arms and twists them behind his back. Alistair lets out a howl of rage - as he catches sight of three big guards manhandling his wife.

He sends the offending soldier flying over his head with a burst of strength and makes easy pickings of those who dare to stand in his way. By the time he is able to reach Elisa, the guards had already tied her to the pole and is in the middle of pouring oil on the dry twigs around her. Two of the biggest swans flutter around their heads, pecking and slapping them in vain.

A fresh wave of soldiers appear from the right and rush to apprehend the struggling King.

"Elisa, give it up! Elisa! Save yourself!" Alistair shouts. She is his everything, he refuses to live without her.

Elisa somehow frees her hands, and continues to knit determinedly. 

She looks up, her face overcome with joy, drops her needles and with a flourish, reaches into her pouch and pulls the rest of her knitting out. Her palms dig painfully into the thorns but she ignores the pain valiantly.

Velanna sees her Warden-Commander and springs into action. She loudly hails the swans, causing yet another round of chaos, their long wingspans crashing into the crowd as they try to fly to her.

Elisa quickly separates the shirts and flings them at the birds. With loud squawks, they waddle towards the stinging nettles and lift the shirts above their heads. Nate and Velanna's help proves to be invaluable and soon, the feathers that adorn them molt to the ground and in their place, 11 tall and annoyed humans are left standing in a row.

Two soldiers flail helplessly beneath Sten and Shale. They do not bother to lift their feet. 

With this done, Elisa - already untied and wrapped in her husband's protective embrace, wrings her hands and utters her first cry in a long, long time.

"Elisa," Alistair mutters in shock, gazing down at her with complete adoration, "Elisa, you...you..." 

Before he is able to recover from his surprise, she slumps against him in a faint.

 

viii.

When she wakes, it is with a stretch and a yawn - silent, as usual. Elisa blinks sleepily and raises her head. Her bedroom is empty, and she thinks with a sinking heart that it was all only a dream.

Then, she hears a cough, and turns the other way. Alistair is standing on the other side, smiling bashfully and delightedly. He bounces on the balls of his heels like a little boy, and she finds herself grinning back at him.

"Elisa," he says at last, still beaming at her, "Elisa...say something."

"A...Alistair," her voice is hoarse, raw from unuse, but his face crumples into a cross of happiness and pain, and he sits down on their bed. He lifts up a rose to her, fresh and still dewy from the gardens.

"I've missed that... _so much_ ," he whispers, "I've missed hearing your voice, Elisa."

"I love you," she says, the catch in her voice more from emotion than from relearning to speak. She reaches up to take him into her arms, and holds him tightly.

"And I you," his breath ghosts pass her ear and she shivers. "Always."

-End-

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on Hans Christian Andersen's fairy tale.


End file.
